


Necessity

by prairie_lily



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Control, Desire, F/M, Lust, My First Fanfic, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairie_lily/pseuds/prairie_lily
Summary: Mr. Darcy finds an unconventional way to keep his sexual appetite in check and to avoid an unwanted attachment.





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you ready?” He asked gently, but with an undertone of authority.

“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” she responded, her words not so much a whisper as an exhale.

 _Likewise_ , he thought as he steadied her hip with his left hand and guided his cock with his right, finding her passage moist, warm and inviting.

****

He preferred to take them facing away, with their hair loose over one shoulder. The gentle curve of waist, hip and buttock forming a sumptuous landscape spread before him. It also conveniently avoided those most intimate gazes that would foster an unwanted attachment, which was the point of this whole arrangement.

As a wealthy estate owner, Darcy had no shortage of women seeking to entrap him into marriage. Every party, dinner and ball was a virtual minefield of titillating conversation, conniving mothers and bejeweled cleavage. And as a young man, he unfortunately also had no shortage of hormones and lusty thoughts. To keep that most ungentlemanly beast in check and to avoid a most regrettable attachment, he met his needs in other ways.

The women in his service came to him agreeably with full knowledge of his work requirements and were compensated accordingly for their ‘extra duties.’ It wasn’t a completely satisfactory situation, he acknowledged. In fact, it was the lesser of many evils. The use of his financial resources, power and position to meet these primal needs was somewhat incongruous with his morals. But he countered these feelings with the knowledge that his women made sufficiency wages to lift them from poverty and consented willingly. Besides, the alternatives were much less appealing.

As was the custom of the day, his father introduced he and Bingly to the pleasures of the flesh during the winter season of the year they turned 17. The central London brothel served a gentlemanly class of patrons. And did so with the utmost taste and discretion. The matron selected him a petite, yet sensuous girl, not much older than himself at the time. Her luscious brunette curls had spread across the silk pillow as he hovered uncertainly between her parted thighs. She had chuckled softly as she reached to guide him to the mark. This introduction kindled the fire of need that led to the current situation.

While he had since enjoyed the occasional tryst at similar establishments, whoring wasn’t for him. The fear of infection and the pity he felt for the women, trapped out of desperation into that life, weighed heavily on him. And for some time afterwards, his thoughts strayed to his dear sister Georgiana and how he would rather die that have her in a similar situation, working on her back to meet the basic necessities of life.

He had contemplated acquiring a mistress. Other young men of comparable rank and circumstances in his circle of acquaintances had established such relationships. In exchange for money, lodging, food and other gifts, these women would satisfy the carnal itches of their male companions. While not the poor waifs of the brothel scene, most of these women had fallen on hard times; many were widowed. Some, he conceded, agreed out of desire, whether to fly the bonds of a boring marriage or due to their own wanton urgencies. But this latter type, although the most alluring, were apparently few and far between. And the nature of these relationships lent themselves to gossip and scandal, a circumstance he was sensitive to avoid. Especially since the Wickham affair that nearly broke into the public sphere.

 _No_ , he thought. The mutual agreement between his female staff and himself was the best of these options. Finding release before a social engagement (and sometimes after) freed his mind to consider the more mundane aspects of a potential match. Temporarily relieved of lustful inclinations, he could weigh the women’s income, titles and social capital in a manner that was fitting to one in his station. When he chooses to marry, his decision will have importance consequences, not only for himself, but also his sister and the Pemberley Estate. It was not a choice to be made clouded by passion, let alone love.

***

One final, delicious thrust and he pulled out, grasping his cock as he found release. The white fluid pooled in the groove of her lower back as he let out a sigh of satisfaction.

_This was another of his precautions. He never gave them his seed, sacrificing those final seconds of full pleasure for the need to avoid pregnancy. Pemberley full of unmarried, pregnant house staff and the subsequent litter of illegitimate children was sure to attract unwanted attention and gossip._

Grasping a fresh linen towel, he dabbed the remaining moisture from his retiring member before wiping the fluid from her back. As she straightened off the padded table, he said “Thank-you, Rose. I found that was most satisfactory.”

She glanced at him as she reached for the pink silk wrapper draped over a nearby chair. “I’m so pleased to hear it, Mr. Darcy,” she replied with a knowing smile. “You are most welcome.”

Slipping her arms through the generous sleeves, she reached to gather her hair over the collar, lifting her bare breasts appealingly before covering them with the flimsy garment.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight. Rose smiled again and asked, “shall I send in Mr. Smith?” in reference to his valet.

“Please,” he responded. _Perhaps a second encounter would be necessary after this evening’s dinner_ , he thought, his eyes resting on her long, indecently bare legs as she crossed to the door.


	2. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Darcy returns from an evening out in Derbyshire society with more than the dinner menu on his mind.

It was with thinly veiled relief that Darcy alighted from the carriage and quick stepped across the gravel driveway, rocks crunching under his boots and a slight breeze lifting waves of his thick, dark hair. The night was dark. Only a crescent moon and a dusting of stars graced the sky. But the windows in the front entrance of Pemberley glowed soft yellow to illuminate the steps, welcoming him home. The door swung open, revealing his butler, Mr. Powell, waiting as always to receive him.

“Good evening Mr. Powell,” he said in greeting.

“Good evening Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Powell responded with a slight bow. His angular features and height that nearly reached that of Darcy’s made for commanding figure. “I trust the Jackson’s dinner suited you?” he asked as he closed the door, before accepting Darcy’s overcoat and top hat.

“That and the entertainment that followed,” Darcy responded with a rare grin as he recalled Miss Jackson playing the piano forte, catching his eye over her bare shoulder.

“Shall I send for Victoria or Iris this evening?” Mr. Powell asked, returning Darcy’s grin with a knowing smile before adding, “Rose has retired for the evening. She mentioned she was quite fatigued.”

 _I’m certain she is_ , he thought. “Victoria please. I’ll head up directly. Good night, Mr. Powell.”

“Very good Mr. Darcy,” he responded as Darcy turned to the main staircase.

*******

Lit tapers cradled in wall sconces and Mr. Smith were waiting for him in the dressing room adjacent to his bedchamber. Mr. Smith, his valet, deftly removed his boots before helping him out of the rest of his evening attire. After donning a dark blue dressing robe and nothing else, Darcy dismissed him and took a seat at a small, carved wood table near the hearth. The room was warm from the fire, the flames casting soft, flickering shadows on the walls and the canopy of his 4-poster bed. He took a sip from the small tumbler Mr. Smith had set out for him. Whisky with a splash of water.

Picking up his quill, he began his evening habit of dutifully recording the happenings of the estate that day and the dinner party that night in his diary.

_Tried the grey gelding Mr. Carter is selling. Fine head with large, stout hooves. But slightly skittish and a bit on the shorter side for my liking. Uncertain if I should make the purchase, perhaps the indecision is a sign to withhold an offer? Will decide by breakfast tomorrow. Mrs. Jackson set a fine table at her dinner party tonight. Menu included succulent roasted beef, creamed potatoes and a rich pound cake._

He smiled to himself as he remembered the seating arrangement. Miss Jackson, about 4 years his junior, yet remarkably well endowed and formally out in society, was conspicuously seated across from him. All the better to display her charms, no doubt her mother had schemed when she planned her table. _If only Miss Jackson’s conversation was as intriguing as the deep crevasse between her breasts_ , he recollected. More than once his attention had drifted from her prattle about the upcoming London season to imagine what those breasts would look like on display in nothing but a lacy corset. How would they feel cupped in his hands? Slightly firm? Or soft and yielding? Were her nipples small, pink and upturned? Or were they inviting dark rosettes that spread wide across her breasts? And what would those nipples taste like if he were to kneel before her and suckle them between his lips? Better yet, how pleasingly they would bounce if he were to...

A soft knock on his bedchamber door abruptly halted this debauched train of thought.

“Come in,” he ordered in a deep, authoritative voice, running a hand through his dark waves to settle himself.

A petite, red haired woman with sapphire blue eyes slipped into the bedroom carrying a small porcelain basin. Her sage green silk wrapper whispered as she crossed to him.

Darcy set his quill in its holder, closed the cover of his diary and drained the last drops of amber liquid from his glass before standing to meet her.

“Good evening Victoria,” he said as she reached him in front of the blazing hearth.

“Good evening Mr. Darcy,” she replied, looking up to meet his eyes before shifting her gaze lower.

“You may begin,” he commanded in a low, quiet voice.

She set the basin on the green hearth rug. Reaching for the belt of his robe, her small hands deftly loosened the knot and parted the fabric to reveal a toned chest and stomach, honed from riding hours in the saddle and wielding a fencing sword. She circled behind him, straining to her toes to ease the fabric off his wide, muscular shoulders and arms then laid the garment over the nearby chair.

His gaze on her, she then removed her own robe, laying it beside his.

 _Lovely woman_ , he thought, as he took in her naked figure.

Between his lusty thoughts of Miss Jackson’s bosom and the appearance of Victoria, his erection was already well underway. The fire crackled, sending a shower of sparks upwards into the chimney. He stepped towards her, giving more space between himself and the fire as the warmth licked up the back of his firm thighs and buttocks.

She knelt at his feet. Drawing a cloth from the porcelain basin, she slowly wrung the excess water, releasing a shower of drops that tinkling as they fell. Her hands reached for him, gently wiping the length of his shaft and scrotum, sending waves of pleasure shivering over him. She smiled as she looked up at him, her red hair glowing with the orange firelight. Glancing down, she picked up a small block of white soap, the scent of lavender mingling with the fainter smells of wood, smoke and leather as she worked it into a lather. Those small, soapy hands then encircled him, warm, slippery, confident as she continued the cleansing ritual.

Beside the fact that he found the action highly erotic and that it felt good, he wanted the women to be comfortable taking him in their mouths. So they washed him like this, at the start of each encounter.

The slip of her soapy hands along his length stirred him fully and it was with some relief that she stopped to wipe him clean with the cloth. He tried to focus on his breath, inhaling deeply to settle his pounding heart and growing need.

 _It wouldn’t do to spill my seed before she even starts_ , he thought.

With him now thoroughly clean and ready, she grasped him firmly at the root and leaned forward. He watched as her tongue slipped across the head of his cock. Once again, she looked up, meeting his gaze as she spread her lips and took him fully into her mouth and across the flat of her tongue.

He felt a surge of blood to the area and let out a low noise, somewhat between a groan and a growl. Then he closed his eyes, surrendering fully to sensations of her warm, wet mouth, the waves of heat from the fire tickling his backside and the soft feel of her hair loosely bunched in his hand as she began to bob.

“That’s perfect, just like that,” he said, rather gruffly.

He was relaxed and relieved to be giving into these basic needs. It felt so good to surrender to the here and now, the more usual occupation of his thoughts cast aside for the sheer pleasure of this moment. Gone were his more typical worries about the estate, his sister, the economy, social interactions and also his bachelor status.

Her rhythm was steady and sure under the suggestive, gentle guidance of his hand in her hair, cupping the back of her head. The soft sucking and slurping from below mingled with the crackling of logs in the fireplace. He felt the building pressure, the growing need for release. Another low groan escaped his lips. Part of him resented this loss of control. Resented that a woman and his needs could bring him to such a bestial level, drawing such noises from his throat. After all, any savage can mate. But the waves of pleasure stroking up his body in response to her mouth’s work quickly overcame this mental resistance.

Most nights he would change from the pleasures of the mouth to those of a more primitive nature. Using the brief pause it took to transition his woman from her knees to bend her over the table, he would gain a few moments of endurance to prolong his release. He liked to make it last.

Tonight though, between his voluptuous dinner companion and Victoria’s growing skill, he was quite far gone.

“Victoria, I will finish like this tonight.”

She paused her movements and he released her head in response.

“Of course. As you wish Mr. Darcy.”

Once again, her eyes met his as she gradually eased him through her lips. He couldn’t help it. A deep moan of pleasure escaped him in response to the sight and sensation. She resumed her movements as he rested his hand onto its place at the back of her head. She had one hand grasping the root of his shaft, the other stroked down the front of his muscular thigh, sending tingles down the taught leg. Abruptly, her hand was gone. She quickened the pace slightly, bringing his erection to even greater heights and much to his surprise and gratification, he felt her gently cup his balls, stroking the sensitive flesh between shaft and scrotum.

This was his undoing.

“Now,” he said, as was his habit. He felt it proper to give them notice when he was about to finish. Removing his hand from her head, his testicles tightened as he found his surrender. Waves of bliss spread through him, pulsing his seed into her waiting mouth. She stilled and swallowed as the aftershocks continued to course through him, leaving him weak-kneed and slightly light-headed. He sank into his arm chair and stretched his legs luxuriously towards the fire. The relaxation took him, providing a rare moment of complete ease. Victoria knelt at his feet and carefully washed him clean before taking her leave for the evening.

*******

Alone once again, he resumed his writing, quill tip scratching across the page.

_Leaving Pemberley tomorrow for an extended period. Will join Bingley at his new home in Hertfordshire._

Pleased with his day and all that transpired, he sunk into the softness of his feather bed in hopes of a rejuvenating sleep before the journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for the reads, positive comments and kudos! It has been great encouragement for me to continue. This chapter was meant to represent a typical evening for Darcy, pre-Elizabeth and the Pride and Prejudice timeline.


	3. Clandestine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Darcy’s arrangement is put to the test.

And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether—Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.

Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.

Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.

“Come, Darcy,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand upwith.”

Darcy had perceived, from the moment of his entry, the stir he created among those assembled. And he was acutely aware that his estate and income would surely attract the unwanted attention of many of the women, young and old alike.

“I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom!” cried Mr. Bingley, clearly accepting this excuse at face value. “Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.”

“ _You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet, happy to point out her charms while she was safely occupied by his friend.

“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” and turning round he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_ ; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

His bravado had its desired effect. Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off, feeling the warmth of blood rising under his collar. Little did Bingley know of his strategy to resist such temptations. His lusty cravings were already well satisfied. And it was just such an encounter that gave him the fortitude to elude the most charming woman in the room.

 

***

_Afternoon prior_

 

His sore muscles relaxed into the hot depths of the soaker tub, a welcome relief to his tired body. It was a 3-day ride from Pemberley to Netherfield. It was his preference to spend the journey in the saddle. All the better to take in the sights and sounds of the countryside while setting a pace to his liking. His entourage, consisting of Mr. Smith, Rose and Iris, followed in one of his carriages which also hosted his luggage and guns. Bingley had promised the opportunity for shooting should the fine weather hold. In addition, there would be the inevitable engagements in the local country society. For both eventualities, he wanted to be prepared.

_  
_

***

“Do you not think it rather strange that Mr. Darcy should require the service of not one but two of his personal housemaids when visiting us?” asked Miss Bingley as she poured the afternoon tea in Netherfield’s drawing room. “Why, it is my understanding that gentlemen typically travel with a valet at most. And couldn’t he have simply employed the services of one of your men?”

“Not at all!” exclaimed Charles Bingley, his eyes twinkling with his usual vigor. “We all know my good friend Darcy is not exactly a dandy. But he does, however, have a preference for fine clothing and takes great care and pride in his appearance. Which would pose a challenge to even the most diligent valet given his penchant for vigorous physical activities and the length of his proposed stay. Why, if he isn’t galloping around the countryside, he is either shooting or fencing!” He paused in his speech for a sip of tea before continuing. “I’m sure the last thing he would want to be is an inconvenience to us and our own servants during his visit.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” responded Mrs. Hurst, gently placing her own teacup its saucer. “He can be rather particular about things. Why, I overheard him describe at length his requirements for his evening hearth fire during his brief stay with us in London last season.  I believe this bout of instruction lasted the greater of 5 minutes,” she added with a malicious smile.

“Well, if that is truly his style, we are indeed fortunate that he brought servants enough to maintain his fine wardrobe, stoke his evening hearth fire and turn down his bedsheets exactly to his liking,” concluded Miss Bingley.

 

***

Droplets of water slipped from his sopping brown curls, merging into larger beads over his broad shoulders before streaming down the muscular grooves of his chest and back. The soft afternoon light streamed from the window, highlighting the remnant wafts of steam. Tucking a linen towel about his waist, he crossed through to the well-appointed guest bed chamber.

Iris was crouched by the hearth, laying the logs and kindling in a particular pattern to sustain a fire for most of the night. It would be lit upon his return later that evening.

Striding to the door, he addressed her. “I trust the servant quarters are suitable for you?” he inquired. 

Immersed in her work, she started at his abrupt entry but quickly composed herself. “They are very comfortable, indeed Sir,” she responded, meeting his eyes across the room.

“I’m glad to hear it,” His gaze leaving hers, he seized the robust yet discrete door latch, which slid into place with the faintest of clicks. “We haven’t much time,” he said quietly. Moving to her side, he continued “I will soon need to dress for dinner, after which we will immediately depart for the dance.”

She arose to her feet, a delicate blush rising on her cheeks and chest in response to his unspoken question. His eyes burned into hers and his breath quickened at her proximity, betraying his need. Three days travel and no opportunities for an encounter had left him quite desperate. There was also the need to prepare for an evening in society where who knows what type of temptations might find him. 

Yet she made no move to answer his request, only held his gaze and deepened her blush.

His hand thus forced, he asked. “Please, Iris, would you permit me to take you now?”

“As you wish, Mr. Darcy” she responded, allowing her lips to form a seductive smile.

Without further hesitation, he grasped her by the elbow and gently guided her towards the bed.

The wide 4-poster was laid with a soft, feather mattress and luxurious hunter green linens. Inviting as it was, the sounds that would emit from coupling on such a surface could not be risked. However, the bed was conveniently situated on a raised platform.  She was much shorter than him but by standing on the step, the height was nearly perfect for his purposes. His hand found her upper back, encouraging her to bend forward.

“Take hold of the post,” he ordered in a whisper. “Remember, we must not be heard!”

She did as he instructed, grasping the corner post while lengthening her back and positioning her skirted hips. Squatting low, he gathered the layers of her skirts and lifted them up to rest on her waist, revealing bare, creamy white legs, rounded buttocks and the dusty rose of her womanly parts.

He paused for a second to appreciate the display and to listen for approaching footsteps. Hearing nothing but his own rapid breathing, he gave a final glance to the locked door before dropping his towel.

A small vial of oil, designated for just such a purpose, was within easy reach on the night side table. He circulated a few droplets of the lavender scented liquid on his fingertips and trailed the back of his hand up her thigh, raising goosebumps where he touched. Finding the junction a bit restricted for his purposes, he paused. “You know what to do,” he prompted in a low, raspy whisper.

Obligingly, she shifted to a wider stance, exposing her intimate parts and letting out a quiet sigh of anticipation. His access and dominion now complete, his moist fingers sought her delicate rosebud while his other hand rested on her hip, holding her in place. He gently tickled, flicked and finally rubbed her there until her signs of readiness could no longer be ignored. Her breath was coming shallow and rapid, her hips ground provocatively back and when his fingers ventured elsewhere to stroke the larger pedals of flesh, he found she was slick with desire. 

It wasn’t usual for him to spend time exciting them for his purpose—they were instructed to come to him ready and he normally went straight to it. But nothing about this visit was normal and he had to make due. Iris was the youngest and most inexperienced of the three. She seemed to enjoy his attentions and he wanted to keep it that way. 

“Shall I begin?”

“Please Mr. Darcy,” she whimpered in response.

Reaching again for the oil, he stroked the liquid along his member and entered her, the power of his intrusion bringing her right to the tips of her toes, her leg muscles trembling slightly. _Perfection_ he thought. Fully sheathed, he paused to listen for approaching footsteps but heard nothing of concern. Her walls were tight with anticipation and also inexperience. But in a few seconds, they relaxed slightly, and her trembles stopped.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he started his work.

The urgency of his need was reflected in the vigor of his thrusts. But he was careful to avoid that noisy contact of flesh such positions are prone to. Still, he didn’t spare her his length.

The control with which he exerted on most aspects of his life was no match for three days’ worth of denial. He also didn’t have the luxury of time. He finished as he started. Confident. Powerful. Urgent. But before he would have liked to. A restrained groan escaped his lips as his seed pooled on her lower back. A quick wipe of the towel removed most of his expulsion. Her skirts ruffled softly as he flipped them back into place.

“Quickly now,” he whispered urgently. “And thank-you.”

As Iris gathered her kindling basket, Darcy slipped open the door lock, giving her buttock a squeeze as she slipped into the hallway. She glanced back over her shoulder, her cheeks still slightly flushed before hurrying away.

Moments later, Mr. Smith rounded the far corner and passed her with a nod, hurrying himself to Mr. Darcy’s chambers to complete his dress.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been intrigued by Darcy's side of the story. How did this quiet, deep-thinking young man keep his composure in his situation? What did he do to keep the women, so obviously throwing themselves at him, at arms' length? 
> 
> This is my first foray into writing FanFic and smut. Any comments, suggestions, feedback would be most welcome! I have ideas to continue with this story line so stay tuned.


End file.
